


I like dog

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M, Minnesota Wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They get eliminated, then they go out, then things get hazy, and then things get weird. Mikke doesn’t know why there’s a dog, and he doesn’t know where Nino is, and he doesn’t like this at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I like dog

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Erik Haula’s 3 am drunk tweet the night the Wild got knocked out of the playoffs. for reference: http://parisedise.tumblr.com/post/85712124225
> 
> Thanks to Angelsaves and Angie for betaing this. <3 All remaining mistakes are my own.

They lose. 

It’s over, absolutely over — the stanchion, it hit the stanchion, and then — then it was over. Mikke doesn’t understand it; he can’t yet, it’s too soon. Right now, it hurts. All it does is hurt. They lost. He’ll figure out what happened later, but right now, the only thing that matters is that it’s over. They lost, in overtime, in game six, and now they’re done. That’s terrible. It’s all over now, and that is so, so terrible.

It is so terrible, and so over, but now they’ll be able to rest, and heal, and sleep for ages. The end of season hurts, but sleeping doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe Mikke will sleep for a week, but not quite yet. There are a few more things to get through first.

There isn’t a speech in the locker room after it’s over. No one has the energy, and no one knows what to say. Everyone is in shock. There was a stanchion. Things like this aren’t supposed to end because of things like that. It would be hard to make a speech about losing to a stanchion.

Yeo says good job, that they’ll be better next year; he believes in them. 

Mikko says much the same thing, but uses fewer words. 

Mikke isn’t really listening, just enough to get the gist. He doesn’t want to hear about how far they managed to come when they aren’t going to go any further. They can talk about it later; right now, he just wants to get far away from all of it.

He takes his gear off for the last time. The locker room is going to be packed up in a day or two. He’s going to have to make plans to fly home for the summer, but tonight he just wants to forget about a few things first.

It’s over, they lost, and now they’re going to get really fucking drunk. Or at least Mikke is. He doesn’t really care what anyone else is going to do. (Lie.) Tomorrow the hangover should distract him from how much being eliminated sucks. Possibly. At least a little bit? Possibly this isn’t a good idea, but they’ve been eliminated — it’s over, they don’t have to make good choices any longer.

Mikke showers, washing the sweat out of his hair. He feels disgusting. They lost, all of his sweat and new bruises were for nothing, they weren’t enough to make a difference. Maybe if he put a little bit more effort in, was a little bit faster, a little bit tougher, a little bit better, then maybe — fuck it.

He’s getting cleaned up, and leaving the rink behind.

The whole team goes out together for the first round, including all the guys with wives and children to get back to, even Charlie who’s super banged up and probably shouldn’t be going anywhere other than to bed. But they lost as a team, so now they’re going out as a team, no excuses.

Mikke drove to the rink with Nino, but he winds up with Erik in the passenger seat; Nino’s with someone else, it’s all going to work out. They’re all meeting somewhere, the usual place they go after a game. Mikke’s already pretty sure this isn’t where they’ll end the night, but it’s an okay place to begin.

They get there, and head straight for the bar. They each do a shot. That’s the right way to start the night. Just a start.

He sees Nino talking at a table with Brods, and starts making his way over there, but before he makes it halfway across the room he gets pulled down to sit with Mikko and Pommer. They’re both trying to giving him the good mentor talk, and he doesn’t really want to hear it. Like _blah blah blah, good work kid, you sure impressed us tonight,_ so what. They still lost. He’d love hearing this another night, but right now he’s having a hard time believing them. It feels like they’re being nice, which is frustrating.

He doesn’t know how to explain that without being rude, though, so he’ll put up with it, for a bit. He appreciates them both a lot, and has learned a lot from them. Mikko kind of started off as a childhood idol, or at least the younger brother of a childhood idol, but it’s been years since Mikke realized that Mikko isn’t actually cool at all. Now he knows that Mikko’s too serious and overprotective and weird. And awesome, not that Mikke tells him that. And Pommer’s a great linemate. They were so good together this year. Not good enough, but pretty good. Mikke’s happy to sit and listen to them talk about their kids for a while. Not for too long, because it’s very boring, but for a little bit.

Mikko hugs him when he gets up. They aren’t drunk enough for hugging off the ice to be completely non-awkward, but it’s nice too.

He finally gets over to the table the other young guys have claimed, and that’s good. He really wants to stay close to Nino. He thinks so, anyway. It’s good, but then Nino holds onto his hand, and it’s too warm. Mikke just wants to sit next to Nino and drink and be unhappy together. He doesn’t want to hold hands. That’s kind of a lot, and ugh, no.

But then Nino goes off to talk to Cooke before he leaves, which sucks. No. Nino should just stay here not talking to him. That’s really nice. 

All of the older guys are starting to leave. They’re all going to see each other tomorrow — there are thrown-together plans to see a baseball game, and there is still locker cleanout and exit interviews to get through. The season’s over, but it isn’t goodbye.

Still, Mikke holds on tight when Pommer leaves. They had a really good season. Their line was awesome. They’ll have to do it again next year, but be even better. Mikael tells Pommer this. Jason thumps him on the back, and hugs back. When he pulls away, Jason asks, “You’re going to get home alright?”

Mikael nods. “Jonas has my keys.” 

They won’t serve Brods here, and he’s been sullenly drinking Cokes all evening. That isn’t true of where they’re going after, but they’ll be downtown then, and it won’t matter.

The team’s thinning out, and the younger crowd left makes plans to stop off at various apartments before meeting up again downtown for more action. Mikke isn’t ready for the night to be over, and he isn’t alone in this.

They head to Minneapolis, Jonas driving Mikke’s car, Mikke in the passenger seat, and Nino somewhere else. Mikke isn’t sure where, just not here with him.

Nino keeps on winding up in other people’s cars. It’s unacceptable; doesn’t he realize he’s Mikael’s and needs to be in Mikael’s car, even if he isn’t driving it himself? It’s sad. 

Jonas parks in the garage, and they head upstairs. Mikke doesn’t bump into Nino, and Nino isn’t in his apartment when he gets there, which makes sense because Nino has far more clothes at his own place upstairs; why would he go to Mikke’s? (Because Mikke wants him to be here. Maybe they could kiss and blow off their plans with the team to stay home and fuck, but Nino isn’t here, so Mikke is just going to change into something other than a game day suit and then go out and drink more.)

Mikke isn’t careful putting his suit anywhere; he doesn’t need to be careful. No more games, no more game day suits, it doesn’t matter. He pulls on jeans and a t-shirt and heads down to the lobby.

Nino’s standing there, waiting, dressed casually, shoulders slumped. Mikke wants to do something to make him perk up (they could still ditch their friends to go have sex!), but he doesn’t really know where to start. He leans against Nino’s side, and that’s nice, for a moment, but then everyone else is there too, and it’s time to go.

They go to another bar that’s almost a club but not really, or maybe. Mikke doesn’t always catch these distinctions, and doesn’t really care. It’s another place where he can drink with his friends, his _team_ , and work on forgetting the game. This place is younger and louder for sure, and Mikke is done being responsible, done worrying about how sore he’ll feel tomorrow, 100% finished with the season. 

He's talking to Erik when Jonas comes over to get him, saying, “You have to come see this.”

Mikke doesn't want to move to see what this is, but Jonas is persistent, he’s team, says he says Mikke won't believe it if he tells him. Well fine then, Mikke doesn’t need to believe anything. He doesn’t need to see anything. He’s explaining this as best he can when Jonas interrupts him to say, “No, it’s serious. Your boyfriend’s a dog.”

That’s some kind of English expression, right? A dog isn’t a good thing to be; it means a scoundrel, a cheater, or maybe ugly. Something like that. It isn’t a phrase Mikke’s run across very often. Nino isn’t any of those things, though. He’s a sweetheart. Feisty, maybe, on the ice, but he has very good manners off it. He’s so soft-hearted, he didn’t even want to pull Mikke’s hair until he asked for it.

“No, he’s nice.” Very nice. Good-looking, too. Most certainly not a dog, unless that means something else too, which is very possible. Very very possible.

Mikke can't deal with this. Nino is a nice boy who you could bring home to your parents or your captain.

“No, he _is_ a dog,” Jonas says again.

Mikke doesn’t get it. He isn’t sure he cares. “Sure, whatever.” Nino’s a dog, and Mikke’s drunk, and they’re all losers. Why does it matter?

“No, he’s a dog!” Jonas keeps insisting. He still sounds pretty sober; they haven’t been here very long. That’s too bad; he’d probably feel better if he was drunk. If they were both drunk, then it would be understandable that none of this makes sense, but Jonas is sober enough that Mikke’s concerned there might be something going on. Nino isn’t a dog, but maybe he’s in trouble. Mikke could rescue him, be a big hero, just a little bit too late for when they really needed it.

He gets up, and they actually drag him outside, onto the patio. It's chilly; Mikke has no idea what they're doing out here. Darcy’s sitting with a good-sized black dog, petting its head.

Mikke blinks once. The dog’s still there. There aren’t supposed to be dogs at nightclubs; no wonder Jonas is excited.

"You found a dog, so what?"

"It's Nino," Darcy says. 

So now Nino has a dog; good for them. Mikke isn’t jealous, just confused. He doesn’t know why Nino would go off and get a dog. Losing hurts, but there's no reason to act out like this. With Jason getting a puppy, Nino had started talking about maybe getting a cat next year, but he hadn't decided for sure. It was still something they were talking about, like whether they wanted to live together, or keep separate apartments. It was all on the back burner with the playoffs to pay attention to. (Plus Mikke didn't know what he wanted, didn't want to make any decisions.)

Mikke doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t know why he’d get a dog, he said he’s more of a cat person.”

“He didn’t get a dog,” Jonas says. Darcy’s ignoring them, focused on petting the thing. Scandi’s standing around looking like he’s about to crack up. Mikke doesn’t see what there is to laugh about.

“Someone gave it to him, then?” Mikke really doesn’t get it. Maybe this is a strange Minnesotan custom. He thinks he mostly has these things figured out, but who knows.

“No,” Jonas says slowly. “Nino is the dog. He was there, and then...dog.”

Fucking hell. 

If this is a prank, it’s such a lame prank. It actually sounds like the type of thing Jonas and Scandi would scheme up, but then where did they get the dog? Clubs like this don’t usually have big black dogs hanging around. It sounds like too much work for the two of them on a night like this. 

Goddamn. 

The dog stops paying attention to Darcy to press against Mikke’s leg. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with it, but it seems happy when he pats it on the head. Dogs are weird.

It’s almost two in the morning. Mikael isn’t going to call anyone and say, “I can’t tell if Nino turned into a dog or if Brods is fucking with us,” but he kind of wants to. He’d like to call Mikko, or maybe Pommer, and make a grownup figure it out, but no. They’re asleep by now, and have kids in the house. This dog may or may not be Mikael’s boyfriend, and he’s going to look after it until he knows for sure. 

Mikke doesn’t know much about dogs, but he’s pretty sure this one is a good dog. 

They can’t just hang out at the club with the dog. Dogs aren’t allowed in clubs, obviously. Instead they’re going to go get pizza. Mikke wasn’t really listening as they came up with the plan, too busy scratching behind the dog’s ears. Every time he stopped, the dog would press his cold wet nose into his hand, begging for more with his big brown eyes. The dog's eyes are a lot like Nino’s. Maybe it isn’t all a joke. 

It’s only a couple of blocks to Pizza Luce; they can walk easily enough. It’d be simple, but they have the dog, who doesn’t have a leash. What if he wanders off? That could be bad right? 

No one has a tie in their pocket. Jonas offers his shoelaces very seriously. Mikke still isn’t really listening. The dog is still demanding pets, which seems more important. 

It’s Scandi who points out, “If it really is Nino, he’ll follow you around like always, so it should be fine.”

That’s a good enough point, or maybe they just aren’t inventive enough to come up with a better solution. 

They head out, and Mikke half expects the dog to wander off once they’re outside, or insist on staying by the club because that’s where it belongs, but instead it sticks close, sometimes running ahead to smell something but always returning to keep pace. It sits down half on top of Mikke’s foot when they pause for a red light.

That’s weird. Almost enough to make Mikke wonder if this isn’t bullshit, but not quite.

They get to Luce and are confronted by the fact that you can't take a dog into a pizza place. Mikke's stuck waiting outside, "because it's his dog," which is bullshit. Erik's nice enough to wait with him while Brods and Scandi and Darcy go in. They're probably going to get the order wrong, but Mikke is past caring.

He sits on the curb, with his legs stretched out in the street. The dog sits down next to him and shoves its face into his shoulder. Mikke pushes him away. The dog licks the side of his face. It's kinda incredibly gross. But it also reminds him of Nino. If Nino was a dog, he'd act just like this. Mikke doesn't like that. It's disconcerting. 

His boyfriend can't have turned into a dog. That's insane. 

“What the hell are we supposed to do with it?” Mikke asks.

“Him,” Erik corrects. “If it’s Nino, it’s a him, not an it — at least, you better hope so, considering how he’s your boyfriend.”

Mikke wants to groan. He’s tired of the circular logic, the tangles, the uncertainty. He supposes this might be better than dwelling on how they lost, but only very slightly.

“If it is Nino, it would be rude to check that it’s a boy dog. Though I guess if he isn’t, then you might be able to figure out if it’s a prank,” Erik says.

“Huh. That’s true.”

Erik nods. “Yeah, but I’m not checking, he’s your boyfriend.”

No. How about not. 

“I am very tired and not prepared for this,” Mikke says. He hasn’t been prepared for anything tonight, not losing, not moping about losing, and especially not whatever the thing with the dog is. It is all so much beyond.

“If it is a dog, are you going to keep it?” Erik asks.

Mikke shrugs. It is a very nice dog, nice enough to make Mikke suspect that it already has a home and a family. He’s going to be leaving the country in a couple of days; he isn’t prepared to take a dog of mysterious origin back with him. And Nino was thinking about getting a cat. If Nino wants a cat, then Mikke shouldn’t have a dog if he wants them to live together next year. Maybe getting a dog is a great idea for just that reason. He really isn’t sure what he wants.

Erik cracks up like an idiot. "You know, if you do decide to keep the dog, you'll have to figure this stuff out. You'll have to check that he's fixed, and if he isn't, you'll have to take care of that, but you’ll definitely want to make sure it isn’t Nino first, because otherwise, well, that would be kind of a problem for you, right?”

He hadn’t realized how drunk Erik was. "Fuck you,” Mikke says.

Erik keeps laughing. At least he’s amusing himself. It's good that someone's enjoying this, because Mikke sure isn't. He just wishes Nino was here. That would be a whole lot better.

He has no idea where Nino could be. He wonders if he should be more worried than he is. He doesn’t know how that would help anything. Nino probably just went home. That’s the simplest explanation. He could have left without telling anyone, and turned his phone off before going to bed. That doesn’t really sound like something Nino would do, but it makes the most sense.

Mikke doesn’t like this. He hasn’t liked anything tonight. Nino disappearing sucks, but it’s not like the night could really get any worse.

He sends Nino a text. _Where are you? Miss you. Come here?????_

The dog doesn’t beep. Mikke wasn’t really expecting it would, but had considered it as a possibility.

He stares at the screen, telling him that his message has been delivered but is still unread. Hopefully wherever Nino is he’s in a better mood than Mikke is right now.

He’s snapped out of his melancholy by the arrival of pizza. It doesn’t actually make him feel good, but it’s better. Sometimes something warm and interesting to eat will do that.

They sit on the curb and eat. Scandi even bought a slice for the dog, who snarfs it up and begs for more. Mikke has to shove the dog away with his knee to protect his food. Jonas gives it his crusts, and gets a hand covered in slime as payback.

It’s a good dog. Good dog. Pizza dog.

After they finish the pizza, they just sit there for a while. No one seems to want to go home. The sooner they go home and go to sleep, the sooner they’ll have to face tomorrow and the fact that they’re out of the playoffs. Everyone’s going to be going home, and they won’t get to hang out, and they won’t get to play hockey together. Mikke doesn’t like the sound of that.

Sure, he’ll enjoy his summer, and seeing his family, and being in Finland. But he’d rather be playing hockey even longer. Even just one more game.

Fucking stanchions. Fucking Blackhawks.

Mikke isn’t ready to accept that he’s going to have a nice summer. He’s too busy being bitter.

This time next week, Mikke will be at home, and Nino will be in Switzerland, instead of in bed with him. That sounds terrible.

Mikke’s ignoring everyone except for the dog when the flash goes off in his face. He would have been ignoring the dog too, except that it was licking him, which is hard to ignore.

The flash is too bright in the night, just horrible. It even startles the dog, who turns to look at the light. Mikke hardly has a moment to identify the culprit, Erik holding his phone unsteadily, when the flash goes off again.

“What the fuck?” he asks.

“Documentation,” Erik says seriously. “We wouldn’t want to forget this.”

Mikke still doesn’t believe this is real. If there isn’t any proof in the morning, it would be so easy to pretend it’s all a drunken dream, which really doesn’t sound so bad. As long as Nino shows up in the morning, Mikke doesn’t care if any of this is actually happening.

It feels real, though. The sidewalk is too dirty. It feels real enough to make him worry.

Erik’s poking away at his phone concerningly.

“Don’t twitter shit,” Mikael says. It would look bad.

Erik nods. Mikke doubts anything he might manage to post would be believable. 

They can’t actually sit there all night. Not going home won’t actually stop time. Mikke doesn’t want time to stop, he wants it to go backwards; if they played that game again, he thinks they could have won. It was so close.

He wants it to be morning again, when he woke up with Nino too warm under the covers with him. They kissed for a long time before hurrying to morning skate. In the morning, Mikke had felt so nervous, but _excited_. He really thought they had a chance. 

He doesn’t want to go home and go to sleep and wake up knowing that it’s over. Especially because he won’t even have Nino next to him, just a stupid smelly dog.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, though. It’s too late to stay out any longer. Jonas says that if he wants to sit in the street with the dog until it gets light out, he can, but everyone else is leaving. Mikke lets himself get hauled to his feet. He might as well go be sad in his big soft lonely bed.

Scandi’s sober to drive, and appoints himself in charge of getting Erik home. Good, that’s important; Erik’s flying out tomorrow to play for Finland, he has to do good. Better than they did here. Mikke wishes he was going himself, but he is so tired. The two of them head to Scandi’s car, and Darcy finds a cab. Mikke is left to walk back with Jonas, the dog — Nino — the dog winding its way between them.

There aren’t any rules against animals in the building, but it still feels weird to walk through the lobby with a big black dog that doesn’t have a collar or a leash. Jonas gets off the elevator before them, and now Mikke is alone with the dog.

“I guess we could go to your apartment to see if you’re there and not a dog, but I wouldn’t want to wake you up. And if you went to your place, it means you didn’t want to see me tonight. Don’t want to be rude.”

The dog tilts its head to one side, strongly reminding Mikke of Nino’s expression when he listens closely to a reporter asking a question.

“I’m talking to a dog in an elevator at three in the morning. This is so pathetic. I’m ashamed of myself. At least you’re cute, I guess.”

He isn’t even talking in English; that seems like unnecessary effort. Nino doesn’t understand Finnish, but dogs don’t understand humans, so it doesn’t make a difference.

Mikke stops at his own door. The dog noses at his ankle while he struggles with the lock. 

Mikke kicks off his shoes just inside the door, and starts stripping down to his boxers. He makes a cursory attempt at brushing his teeth — even in defeat, these things matter. He’s tired and drunk and has a dog instead of a boyfriend, but he’s going to brush his goddamn teeth before he goes to sleep, if it’s the last thing he does. It could be. Morning seems too close, but tomorrow seems very far away. 

The dog climbs onto the bed like he belongs there. Maybe he does, if it’s Nino, but even then, that’s a discussion they’ve been meaning to have. If it is just a dog and not a boyfriend, then Mikke should probably make it stay off the furniture so it doesn’t pick up any bad habits. Not that he’ll keep it if it is just a dog. It’s probably just a dog; anything else is too strange.

It is too late. Mikke is too tired. This day has gone on far too long already. There has been too much bullshit, too many fuck ups. This day is far past saving, so it’s time to go to bed. In the morning, tomorrow will be today, and things will hurt at least a little bit less, and hopefully things will make at least little bit more sense. Mikke hopes so very much.

The dog is hogging the bed, lying in the middle where Mikke wants to be. That’s very rude. Mikke shoves him over, making space. He shouldn’t have to fight for room in his own bed. He lies down, and the dog resettles around him, resting its head on his chest. It’s heavy, and has bad breath, but really isn’t much worse than Nino, who’s a clingy drunk.

Mikke wakes up around seven to blinding sunlight sneaking through the shades, and a very human boyfriend holding on to him. That must be good? But the hangover clouds everything. He has to struggle to get free, but he needs to piss and close the curtains. Nino doesn’t stir at all.

The dog’s gone, and Nino’s here now, and that’s great, but also, like… 

Mikke’s going back to bed.

When he wakes up again, hours later, his head hurts less, which is good. Nino’s up too, sitting on the end of the bed, with his knees pulled up to his chest. This is less good. Nino should be cuddling or something, Mikke isn’t entirely sure. His head hurts less than before, but it’s still a bad morning, or, well, early afternoon. And really, why is Nino all the way over there?

It's terrible. Mikke wants to grab him to be closer, or maybe just ask if they can cuddle, because then maybe Nino would come to him and he wouldn't have to move. Moving still sounds terrible. Really, they should talk about last night. That sounds terrible too. 

Mikke should get up and get some water and aspirin, but if he puts it off he won’t say anything, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world… Last night was weird, but also possibly important. He doesn’t know if it’d work to pretend it never happened.

Maybe he should go back to sleep again. Maybe, but not yet, not when Nino’s all the way over there. He needs to fix that first.

There’s no way he can say this without sounding crazy. He just has to go for it and hope Nino understands. Nino will be nice about it no matter what Mikke says. That's reassuring. 

“So, um, last night…” Mikke says. He’s going to sound so stupid. “There was a dog and…”

Nino answers before he can even finish the question. 

“It’s just something that happens when I get overwhelmed and sad.”

“Oh. Ummmm.” What the hell?

“I never told you because it’s odd. I thought I had outgrown it,” Nino says.

“You’re saying it actually happened?” Mikke asks, unbelieving. “You turned into a dog?”

"I didn't think it would happen anymore. It only ever happened at home when I was younger, never in Portland or New York. I thought I was over it, but apparently not. I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry,” Nino says again, sounding so sad.

"For what?” Mikke doesn’t get it. “For turning into a dog?” He isn’t going to wonder if that actually happened any longer. Nino said it did; it still seems crazy, but life’s crazy. Mikke knows that sometimes things just don’t make sense. Goddamn stanchions. “That's not your fault. You didn't do it on purpose, it was annoying for both of us."

"I’m sorry for being an inconvenience,” Nino says.

"It wasn't—" Okay, turning into a dog was inconvenient; Mikke would have rather had his human boyfriend who would have looked after him and kissed him before getting into bed. But Nino shouldn't feel bad about something that was out of his control. "I didn't mind," Mikke says. "It doesn't bother me, because it's you and...you're supposed to be with me, even if you turn into a dog."

Nino doesn’t seem to believe him. He’s still sitting too far away, it’s so annoying.

“Look, just come here, okay?”

Nino hesitates, but he moves up the bed to sit next to Mikke, still not touching. Mikke can't take it any longer. He wraps his arms around Nino's shoulders and pulls him in. Nino's kind of stiff, and it's kind of awkward, but it's better too. Mikke thinks it's better, anyway. Nino's so solid and good. This is what he's been missing. 

“I don't care if you turn into a dog when you’re sad. I wouldn't care if you turned into a cat or a horse or a bird or a squirrel.” Mikke isn’t really sure what he’s saying, but he’s gone all season hardly saying anything, and that can’t last. And the more he says, the more Nino relaxes against him. Mikke can find a way to keep talking just for that. "I want you to not be sad so it doesn’t happen, but I can deal with it, because when you're you, you're the best.” Mikke isn’t used to wanting to have someone around the way he wants Nino around, but he’ll deal with that later. Right now, he just has to tell Nino how he wants him around. “I just need you here, as whatever. I can handle the rest."

“But I—” Nino trails off. Mikke has a hard time making out what Nino is saying, talking into his shoulder. “It’s harder. You deserve something simple and nice.”

“But I want you,” Mikke says. He doesn’t know what else to say. Just saying this is hard enough. His head hurts too much.

“You’re sure?” Nino asks.

“Positive,” Mikke says, which is true enough. He’s as sure about this as he is about anything. The world’s a little bit terrible — they lost last night, and now he’s hungover, so almost everything hurts — but he’d rather have Nino here with him than anyone else in the world. That’s something Nino should know. Trying to be a good boyfriend is so tiring. Worth it, probably, but exhausting. 

“Can we lie down for a while longer?” Mikke asks.

Nino makes a muffled sound of agreement into his shoulder. Cool. Mikke lies back down, pulling Nino with him. Nino’s heavy, a much bigger blanket that won’t let go. That’s good; Mikke doesn’t want him to.

**epilogue - september**

They get a place together this year. There are two bedrooms for appearances, and a bigger balcony. They don’t have a housewarming party, but a bunch of people come over to hang out before camp actually starts.

Erik’s one of the last people to arrive; Mikke has to pull himself away from the conversation he was having with Brods (“Yes, dinosaurs are very cool, I would love to hear more, no, I am not waiting for an opening to make fun of you, please, go on”) to answer the door.

Mikke lets Erik in, and offers to get him something to drink. He teases Erik for being late, but resists mocking his terrible goatee. It really is good to have everyone back in the same place again, after a too-long summer. In a month, Mikke will be half sick of them all, except for Nino, but for now, it’s nice.

“Hey, I have a present for you,” Erik says. He hands Mikke a rectangle, covered in wrinkled tissue paper, poorly taped together.

Mikke opens it with a reasonable degree of caution. Erik wouldn’t give him anything that would hurt him, only embarrass him.

It’s a slightly blurry photograph in a big frame. Mikke stares at it for a second, processing what it’s of. It’s him, sitting on the sidewalk, with his arm around a big black dog that has its tongue hanging out. Mikke isn’t looking at the camera, but the dog is. Looking closer, he notices the details on the frame, stylized dog bones etched into the metal. Very funny. It’s almost cute?

“Fuck you,” Mikke says.

Erik laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the kind of dog Nino turns into.  
> http://www.dogbreedslist.info/all-dog-breeds/Groenendael.html#.VCXUVytdVy8  
> I HAVE SPENT A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME CONSIDERING THIS SUBJECT!


End file.
